


Sherlock Is Actually A Girl's Name

by chocolatechipcumbercookie (labelleplume)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Costumes, Fluff, Gen, Halloween, Parentlock, mild violence, trick-or-treating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-11 00:44:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/labelleplume/pseuds/chocolatechipcumbercookie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sherlock is actually a girl's name."</p><p>John and Mary have a girl and in honor of Sherlock, they name her Sherly.  She's seven now and a strange mix of all three of them.  Sherlock is her godfather and extremely fond of her.</p><p>It's Halloween now, and Sherly wants Sherlock to take her trick-or-treating this year.  Sherly adores her godfather whom she calls "Uncle Sherlock".  She wants to be just like him, and decides to be a consulting detective this year for her costume.  But the quality time between Sherlock and Sherly turns into a life or death situation unexpectedly.  Will Sherlock be able to keep his promise to John and Mary, that'd he'd always be there for the three of them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock Is Actually A Girl's Name

“Sherlock, you have to!”  John stands away from Sherlock, his arms crossed over his chest in frustration.  Despite the fact that he has control of the center of the room, it’s clear that the real power lies in the man curled up on the couch.

“John, I don’t _have_ to do anything.  You cannot physically force me to participate in this ridiculous holiday,” Sherlock retorts with an expression of utmost boredom.  He turns away from John, curling up into the cushions childishly, his blue robe hanging over the edge and dragging on the floor.  Sherlock doesn’t sleep long while on a case but when he’s not busy, it’s a rule to never get up before eleven.  Which accounts for his uncharacteristic stubbornness towards John; no one likes to be unexpectedly roused early in the morning in their own flat.  Especially if said disturber of the peace is your best friend who technically shouldn’t even have access to the flat anymore except for the fact that he couldn’t bear to ask John for the keys back.

“It’s not for me; it’s for her.  You’re her godfather, and it would mean to world to her if you took her,” John pleads.  Sherlock doesn’t respond with anything intelligible, only a faint sigh is audible.  John marches over to the couch and stands over Sherlock.

“Oh for God’s sake!  Sherlock Holmes, you do not have a case or any acceptable reason to refuse.  You are her namesake, and Sherly would like you to take her trick-or-treating this year for Halloween.  I thought you loved spending time with her!”  Sherlock rolls over and places his feet squarely on the floor, ruffling his hair in irritation.

“Yes, when she’s asking me about my cases or I’m letting her experiment in my kitchen.  Halloween is a commercialized distortion of an originally religious holiday.  I have no inclination to participate in either.  I am not religious, and quite frankly, the thought of thousands of children that have neither the intelligence nor the self-control of Sherly roaming the streets greedily for candy is enough to make me question the wisdom of procreation,” Sherlock says disdainfully.  John rubs his face with his hands.  He hates when Sherlock gets like this.  Sherlock’s inherent dislike of large crowds and public spaces would be the death of John.

“Fine.  Fine, do what you want.  But I’m not going to be the one to tell her.  If you’re going to ruin Sherly’s Halloween by being a selfish prick then you’re going to have to explain that to her yourself.”  Sherlock grimaces.  John has him and he knows it.  However much he may deny it, Sherly means as much to Sherlock as if she were his own daughter.  It’s the trump card John has that Sherlock cannot refute with logic and reason.

“Alright!  I’ll take her.  Happy now?” Sherlock demands, glaring at John under a mess of curls.  John strides over to the coat rack, throwing Sherlock his dark trench coat.

“Yes I’m happy now.  Now get up and get dressed.  We only have a few more days before the thirty-first and you’re going to help us find her a costume.”  Sherlock simply groans.

 

~

 

“Mary,” Sherlock greets her shortly, still piqued about being dragged here.  They’re standing on the street next to John’s car, waiting for Sherly to come out of the flat that John and Mary live in.

“I would say good morning but you look like you’ve had a terrible wake-up call.  What on earth did you do John?” Mary raises her eyebrows questioningly.  She has on a red scarf which compliments the rosiness in her cheeks well.

“Only what was necessary,” John shrugs.

“Really John, your definition of necessary is incredibly skewed.  It was necessary to place my doorbell under my bedroom door and then repeatedly ring it?  You could have simply knocked,” Sherlock growls.  He’s dressed in his usual attire of a suit and a dark trench coat but it looks less well put together on account of John’s rush.

“I tried that.  You didn’t answer.”

“Usually an indication that the person residing within either one, is sleeping, or two, doesn’t wish to speak to you at that moment in time.  Both entirely sound reasons for you leave them alone,” Sherlock states.  John pretends to search in his pocket for a pen.

“Wait, let me write that down.  Then I can quote it back to you when you won’t stop bothering me about a case that you need my help with,” John replies sarcastically.

“Look at the two of you, squabbling like an old married couple,“ Mary laughs at them.  The door to the flat is open but still no sign of Sherly.

“Sherly!  Come on sweetheart, we’re all waiting for you!” John calls.  The sound of pounding footsteps running down the stairs can be heard and then Sherly comes into view.  In a way, she’s the picture of her mother.  Short bob cut of slightly wavy blond hair and the shape of her mother’s face, but the seven-year old girl has her father’s eyes, a bright blue-green color that stands out.  If her parent’s height’s are any indication, it’s not surprising that Sherly is a tiny little thing.  Sherly is dressed in comfortable leggings, she despises irritating frills and a long t-shirt with the “Ceci n’est pas une pipe” drawing on it.

“Uncle Sherlock!” she cries, smiling and running to give him a hug.  Sherlock can’t help but grin in response.  He might be cold to other people, but he melts for Sherly every time.  Sherly frowns when she finally lets go.

“Did daddy wake you up early?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Sherlock smirks at John.  He just rolls his eyes in return.  Sherly might not share any genetic material with Sherlock but his influence is quite clear.   Sherlock surveys Sherly for a moment, his eyes focusing on the slight scrape on her tiny knuckles.

“How is school?” he asks.  Sherly blushes, kicking one of her shoes on the pavement.

“I got suspended for a day…”  Sherlock raises his eyebrows at her and Sherly gets defensive, “There was a boy!  And he tried to steal my lunch from me and shoved me down.  So I broke his nose.”  Sherlock laughs imagining the little blonde girl socking a larger brutish boy squarely in the face.  Mary just throws her hands up in the air with a smile.

“I’m still working with her on pressure points.  She needs to be subtler about dealing with bullies,” Mary explains.  Sherlock kneels down so that he’s the same height as Sherly.

“Still, not bad.”  Sherly lights up and kisses him on the cheek, evidently delighted with Sherlock’s praise.

“Daddy taught me how to punch.”  Sherlock rubs the side of his face ruefully.

“Yes, he’s quite good at that.”  John opens the door for Mary and Sherlock helps Sherly into the car.  John maneuvers between traffic, heading towards the nearest costume shop that’s set itself up in preparation for Halloween.  Sherly sits in the back next to Sherlock, bouncing her feet against the seat in excitement.

Once inside the store, the curious family strolls down the aisles of female costumes and Sherly is getting more disappointed by the second.

“But I don’t want to be a princess!  Or a witch!  How come they don’t have any good costumes?”   Her face scrunches up in confusion, disoriented by the overwhelming amount of poofy ball gowns for girls her age.  A reaction mirrored by Mary who inspects the motley selection with vague distaste.

“What do you want to be?” Sherlock asks.  She reaches up and tugs his long trench coat.

“I want to be a detective, like you!”  He gives her a thoughtful expression.

“Why didn’t you say that earlier?  I know exactly what you need,” he assures her, taking her hand and leading her away from the girls’ section.

John gives Sherlock a relieved look, he was worried about how Sherlock would be about the whole Halloween idea.  Hopefully, it’ll give them quality time to spend together.  Ever since school started for Sherly and Mycroft had had Sherlock running around London stopping terrorist bombings and cyberattacks, they’d seen little of each other for the past month.  Every night when John had come home from a night out on a case with Sherlock, Sherly would pounce on him as soon as he was through the door asking questions about what happened?  Were there any women involved (Sherly had a strange fascination with female criminal masterminds, John hoped it wasn’t an indicator)?  Was daddy ok?  Did he get hurt anywhere?  John almost felt guilty about going to help Sherlock because he knew how much she missed him and it wasn’t fair that he got to see Sherlock and she didn’t.

An hour later at a different department store, the adults are handing Sherly the various articles they found scouting through the aisles.  Sherlock slips a children’s trench coat on her shoulders while Mary adjusts a blue tasseled scarf around her neck.  John kneels miserably in front of her however.

“I couldn’t find a children’s deerstalker Sherly, I’m sorry,” he confesses, sad to have brought nothing back.  But Sherly just gives him a hug.

“It’s ok daddy, you looked,” she tells him, then she turns to Sherlock, “Could I borrow yours?”

“Course,” Sherlock says and tosses her his deerstalker that he had in his coat.  Mary nudges him with her elbow.  They stand off to the side, watching John and Sherly from afar.

“Have you had that hat inside your pocket this whole time?” she inquires, a smile tugging the corner of her mouth.

“Shut up, it was just in case,” Sherlock elbows her back.

“You knew she wanted to be a detective?” Mary whispers, trying to keep the conversation quiet while John adjusts the hat on Sherly’s head.

“I’d be disappointed if she said she wanted to be anything else.  That’s all she ever asks about when she visits me, what cases have I been working on since I last saw her,” Sherlock replies, a hint of pride apparent in his voice, “I deduce that John doesn’t want her reading his blog?”

“John thinks she gets enough exposure to violence around you without contributing to it himself,” Mary explains.  The hat is too big for Sherly.  It keeps slipping over her eyes and she giggles at John.  John slips away from her and Sherly chases blindly after him, waving her hands at him.

“And yet he’s the reason she beat up that boy at school,” Sherlock chuckles amusedly.

“That’s different, she needs to know how to protect herself,” Mary chides.

“I couldn’t agree more.”  Sherly runs up to Sherlock and Mary to show them her new costume from all angles.  She imitates the way that Sherlock places his fingers under his chin when he’s thinking.  She could’ve been a statue for how still she stood.

“Uncle, what are you going to be?” Sherly asks inquisitively.  Sherlock shifts uncomfortably.

“Oh, um, I wasn’t planning--”

“AHEM,” John coughs loudly into his elbow, not even attempting to be subtle about it.

“I mean, I hadn’t thought about it yet,” Sherlock quickly changes the course of his sentence.  Sherly muses for a moment, then brightens as an idea comes to her.

“I know!  You could be a pirate!”  Sherlock’s face softens minutely, and he gives a short nod of his head.

“A pirate, I like the sound of that.”  Sherly’s eyes glint mischievously and she giggles.

“Hehe, you already look pretty swashbuckling when you run around in your coat.”  Sherlock gives her an amused look.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard the word ‘swashbuckling’ applied to me in my life,” he smiles.

“Will you be the Dread Pirate Roberts?” she asks.  His face grows a little solemn.

“No, I don’t think so Sherly.  I’ll be the pirate Redbeard.”  Sherly cocks her head to the side, curious.

“Who’s Redbeard?”  John and Mary exchange a brief look.

“Redbeard was the bravest and most loyal pirate of them all with a magnificent red mane of a beard.  I guess you could say he was a sort of Robin Hood, fighting off bullies.  You would’ve liked him,” Sherlock tells her.

“Hmmm.  I do like him!” Sherly exclaims, “But you don’t have red hair _or_ a beard Uncle Sherlock.”  Sherlock heaves out a dramatic sigh, pretending to be exasperated.

“For you dear, I shall grow out some stubble to fit the role.  But I am NOT dying my hair red,” he warns her.

“Pretty please!” Sherly pleads.

“No, I draw the line there,” Sherlock retorts sternly.  Sherly shrugs her shoulders.

“Oh alright.  I suppose you would look silly with red hair.”

 

~

 

Sherly gives a delighted peal of laughter when Sherlock appears on her doorstep to take her trick-or-treating.  He’s kept his white dress shirt but the cuffs are unbuttoned and loose, his collar open, and the shirt isn’t entirely tucked into his trousers giving him a ragged appearance.  Sherlock kept his promise and a rough five o'clock shadow is apparent on his cheeks.

John looks astounded, he can’t remember if he’s ever seen Sherlock wear anything besides dress shoes, but there he stands in a pair of knee-high boots.  Sherlock even has a sword hanging on his hip, and if John has assessed correctly, it’s real.

Mary is trying to suppress a smile.  Sherlock might fool John into thinking he’s only doing this for Sherly, but he can’t hide from her how much fun he’s having being a pirate.  It’s as if he’s having his own childhood moments while helping create Sherly’s.

Sherly reaches for him, carrying a small bag at her side, and Sherlock envelopes her miniscule hand in his own.  John and Mary stand in the doorway watching them make their way on the sidewalk.

“Have fun!” Mary calls.  Sherly waves to them and John waves back.

The first hour or so is unextraordinary.  Sherlock watches as Sherly rings the doorbell, says, “Trick-or-treat!”, then thanks the people for the candy.  As they walk Sherly asks him to teach her how to deduce things.  He points out basic tell-tale signs that someone is dangerous.  There’s many skills involved with noticing to the level that he is accustomed to, but teaching Sherly to identify danger is first and foremost Sherlock’s primary goal.

“That woman there, she’s dangerous,” Sherly guesses.  A woman in her thirties is walking ahead of them on the streets, weaving between the groups of parents and children.  Sherlock looks at her.

“Why?” he tests, knowing she’s right but wanting her to prove her line of reasoning.

“Well, she’s wearing combat boots, and not the kind that are a fashionable trend.  That would indicate military service?” Sherly questions, a bit unsure.

“Good,” Sherlock encourages, “And?”

“There’s a slight lump in her jacket, you can just barely see it.  It’s not her wallet or her cell phone, she’d be carrying those in the purse she has on her shoulder.  So it’s most likely a gun by the size,” Sherly squints after the woman, trying to see more but she disappears in the crowd.

“Excellent.  Anything else?” he prompts.  Sherly shakes her head, dejected.  Sherlock gives her hand a squeeze.

“Not bad, not bad.  From the way that she’s wandering the streets, you can tell that she’s not familiar with London.  In fact, considering how long she spent reading street signs, I would deduce that her first language is not English and that’s she’s foreign.  She can’t be an intelligence agent, no true intelligence agent would be that inept, nor could she be an assassin.  I would guess that she spent some time in a foreign military like you said Sherly.”

They spend some time walking in silence, simply enjoying each other’s company.  They stop on a park bench, and Sherly pulls out her first candy of the night.  She offers some to Sherlock, and he takes on just to please her.  He stares out across the street, watching the cars and taxis go by.  Sherlock can hear Sherly unwrapping a piece of candy.  He looks down at his, a Hershey’s bar.  Something is off however, and he brings the candy closer to eye-level for inspection.  There, a small pinhole in the wrapper almost as if a needle had been inserted--

Then Sherlock whirls to face Sherly but it’s too late, she’s already put her Hershey’s bar in her mouth.  Immediately she begins to choke, clutching at her throat and looking wildly at Sherlock.

“Sherly!” he cries frantically and he pulls her around to give her the Heimlich maneuver.  Sherly coughs up a piece of chocolate but the poison is still in her system.  Sherlock doesn’t think, he simply scoops her up in his arms and runs out into the street.  An oncoming motorbike skids to a stop and Sherlock simply tosses some money at the man with a rushed explanation that he’ll bring it back later and hops on.

Sherly’s head lolls back against Sherlock’s arms as he steers in between cars, paying no attention to speed limits.  The hospital looms ahead and Sherlock ditches the motorbike on the sidewalk and sprints in with Sherly.  Instantly doctors swarm over her, putting an oxygen mask on her and wheeling her away from Sherlock’s view.  He slumps against the wall panting.  Sherlock has never prayed in his entire life, but he prays fervently now, hoping that she’s alright.

Sherlock calls Mary and John and they rush to the hospital.  John begins to bombard the doctors taking care of his daughter with medical questions.  Mary touches John’s arm briefly then motions to Sherlock to follow her outside.

“Aren’t you going to stay with your daughter?” Sherlock demands.

“No, the doctors say she’s stable now and I trust John to look after her.  No you and I, we’re going to find that despicable human being who did that to my daughter.  Got it?” Mary commands.  Sherlock nods.

“We can retrace our route, I remember where we went after leaving the house and which places we visited,” he recounts.

“Good, we’ll start there.”

 

~

 

Sherlock takes the motorbike and Mary rides behind him.  The situation is almost eerily similar to when the two of them raced to save John from becoming barbequed in a Guy Fawkes celebration.  Their plan is simple.  They simply walk up with a group of children trick-or-treating to each house.  The kids ring the doorbell, the door opens.  Mary looks at Sherlock who shakes his head whether or not that’s their man.  So far no luck.  They haven’t even gotten to a house that is giving out Hershey bars.  Mary is tense, but her training from her life before John is kicking in and she keeps it under control.

“Don’t worry, we have plenty more houses to go.  We’ll find whoever did this,” Sherlock reassures her.  However calm he appears, Sherlock is anything but.  The time that the American attacked Mrs. Hudson can’t even compare to the fury he feels now.  Sherly is just a child.  But she’s not any child, she’s John and Mary’s child, she’s his goddaughter and she was named after him.  Whoever it was, they’ll be lucky to be alive after he and Mary are done with them.

The flock of children they’re following head up to another house.  A man appears at the door, handing out candy.  Hershey bars.  Mary throws a quick glance at Sherlock.  He nods, this is their man.

“Ladies and gentlemen!  I would advise all of you to throw away any candy that you just received from this man.  I think you’ll find that it’s been poisoned,” Sherlock announces to the group.  A collective gasp goes up and parents start confiscating Hershey bars from their children.

“Who the hell are you?” the man at the door asks.

“Sherlock Holmes.”  The man blanches as recognition flashes across the faces of all those present.  He tries to shut the door on them but Mary kicks it in, sending him flying.  Scared parents herd their children away from the house, some throwing furtive looks over their shoulders as Sherlock and Mary stalk into the house.  The man drags himself away from them down the hallway but he does get far before Mary hauls the man up and pushes him roughly into a wall, a firm grip on the front of his shirt.

“You picked the wrong little girl to poison, didn’t you?” Mary hisses, looking quite intimidating.  Sherlock circles around her to look at him from the side.

“Why’d you do it?” he interrogates.  The man cracks a deranged grin despite the fact that he’s cornered.

“Because they’re so trusting the lot of them.  Come straight up to my door, expecting candies and sweets like I’m the generous giving type.  Never liked children.  Whining, squealing things that they are.  Thought I’d give them a present this year,” he cackles.  The man has a bit of a street accent.

“You sick bastard,” Mary spits.  He throws her a defiant look.

“What?  Did I kill someone you love?  I hope so.”  The insane grin spreads across his face again.  And Sherlock loses it.  Mary sees it coming and drops the man to the floor and gets out of the way.  Sherlock twists the man’s arm behind his back cruelly, eliciting a yell of pain from the man before slamming him into the wall.  The man emits a muffled groan as his face is pressed into the hard surface.  Sherlock pulls the man’s head back and snaps it forward into the wall again, knocking him out cold and leaving a bloody gash on his forehead.  The man slides down the wall, slumping into the floor.  Mary pulls out her phone to call Lestrade and the police arrive to take the man away.

 

~

 

John, Mary, and Sherlock all stand around Sherly’s hospital bed as she grins weakly at them.  They all smile, relieved that she’s getting better.  News of the poisoned Hershey bars plays on the tv in her room.  It’s a children’s ward so bright colors are painted on the wall and a shelf of books sits in her room.

“I’m so sorry Sherly, I should’ve been paying more attention,” Sherlock apologizes.  Sherly sits up against her pillows.

“You didn’t do anything wrong Uncle Sherlock; you saved my life,” she protests.  He gives a weak laugh.

“You probably want to go trick-or-treating with your mummy and daddy next time don’t you?” he asks.

“But that was the most fun I’ve ever had on Halloween!” Sherly exclaims, indignant.  John just shakes his head.  Of course his daughter would think getting poisoned was fun.  But then again, the three of them were hardly normal role models for a child.  The three of them just laugh at Sherly’s miffed expression and assure her that yes, if she wants to, she can go trick-or-treating with Sherlock again next year.  Mary strokes Sherly’s hair while John and Sherlock stand together on the other side of the bed.  The picture of a loving family.

 


End file.
